


Susceptible

by XFilesinAMajor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 23:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21466285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XFilesinAMajor/pseuds/XFilesinAMajor
Summary: Short story I wrote years ago, about what might have driven Pettigrew to turn traitor, and how that critical moment could have gone...
Kudos: 2





	Susceptible

It felt as though he had only just gone to bed when a popping sound jerked him from sleep.

His hand instinctively flew to the bedside table where he kept his wand, but it was already too late.

His throat tightened with terror as he felt the tip of a wand push into his chest. He let his hand drop away from the table and turned his head slowly toward the man accosting him.

Three Death Eaters stood within his tiny bedroom, illuminated by the ends of a few wands; the broad-shouldered man in front was the one currently pressing his wand into Peter’s flesh, directly over his heart.

“Good morning,” the first Death Eater said evenly. The mask he wore hid his face, yet Peter was sure the man was smirking. “Have a nice rest?”

Unable to speak, his mind racing, Peter did nothing.

“If I killed you right now you wouldn’t feel a thing, you know that?” he continued calmly. “And it wouldn’t exactly be difficult, would it. Fortunately for you, our visit may not end that way. As you may have guessed, the Dark Lord does not wish you dead, or this conversation would not even be happening.”

Peter closed his eyes and tried to take a calming breath. It did little good. If they were not here to kill him, that meant they were after information. That meant torture. And they wouldn’t stop when he told them he didn’t know anything, that no one ever told him anything important. He doubted they would stop at all. When a Death Eater said they didn’t want to kill you, they meant they didn’t want to kill you _easily_. He had a weak heart—maybe it would give out before he was forced to endure more than a few hours of the Cruciatus…

“Open your eyes and quit trembling, man!” snapped the man opposite him; the man who was obviously in charge of this operation. The other two Death Eaters were undoubtedly just there as muscle. Not daring to do otherwise, Peter opened his eyes.

“You are being greatly honored, you fool! Now get up, we’re going to discuss this in your--” he sneered, glancing back out through the door into a dingy hallway—“kitchen.” He pulled back his wand, allowing Peter room to sit up, but kept it pointed at him; clearly, escape was not an option.

Perplexed and frightened, Peter managed to sit up, forcing his pajama-clad legs over the edge of his bed and unto the floor. He thought fleetingly of apparating, but did not quite dare the attempt—he was so terrified he could hardly concentrate. Instead, he struggled to his feet, still trembling, his arms wrapping themselves around his bare shoulders.

One of the Death Eaters waved his wand. Peter flinched, but all that happened was that a bathrobe materialized. The Death Eater handed it to Peter, who gratefully pulled it on. It was winter, after all. And his home was not especially well-insulated.

Now nervous and confused, still with a wand trained on him, he walked with the Death Eaters into his own small kitchen. Their leader took a seat at the table and motioned for Peter to sit as well. He did so. Absently, the Death Eater conjured some tea. Peter stared down into the mug in front of him. Cream and sugar had already been added, by the look of it. Was it a lucky guess, or did they really know that much about him?

The heat of the mug in his hands instilled a sense of calm and determination in Peter, and he took a sip, staring back at the Death Eater across from him in defiance.

“This won’t do you any good,” he squeaked out, wishing his voice sounded lower, braver. “I don’t have any knowledge that will be of use to you. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.” He could hear his own heart thumping in his ears.

Instead of admiring this display of bravery, the Death Eaters laughed. “They all say that at first,” murmured one.

After a moment their amusement faded. The leader looked directly at Peter and spoke. “Well, that may be half true. You have more potential than you believe, but I acknowledge that you don’t have a lot of useful information.” He paused. “Yet.”

The mouthful of tea tried to fight its way back up Peter’s throat, along with last night’s supper. No. No no no no no.

The head Death Eater laughed again, and pulled off his mask. A handsome man, perhaps ten years older than Peter, with dark eyes and fair hair, smiled genially across the table. “The Dark Lord has much to offer you, Peter,” he said.

Peter gripped his mug of tea as though his life depended on it. “What do you want from me?” he squeaked.

“Why, your service, of course.”  
  


“You can’t have it.”

“Don’t be too hasty. You have a great deal to gain based on the outcome of this meeting…” His wand twitched. “Or a great deal to lose. You should hear us out.”

“But I don’t know anything! I can’t be of any use to you!”

“Can’t be any use to us?” the man repeated mockingly. “Even the lowliest in the Order have knowledge that could be valuable to our master.”

“You want me to turn spy.”

The man smiled again, his eyes flickering to his two companions. “He catches on fast, doesn’t he.”

Peter took a deep breath. “You’re asking me to betray my beliefs, my cause, and my friends, to turn spy for you. Or you’ll kill me. Does that about sum it up?”

The man snorted derisively. “Your cause? Your beliefs? Don’t pretend to be noble. You have never cared enough for any belief to sacrifice your life. We’ve been watching you, Peter.”

He felt his stomach somersault again and swallowed, hard. “Why me? There are plenty of people in the Order who could help you more, who would make better spies than I would.”

The man eyed him keenly. “Perhaps. But you have special qualities you may not see.” And he smiled again, this time encouragingly. Peter understood now why this man had taken his mask off. It is much easier to reject an offer from a faceless villain than a proposition from a smiling man with a mug of tea. He was already having difficulty thinking of the man across from him as a Death Eater. Upon realizing this, Peter resolved not to be swayed by the trick.

“It doesn’t matter. I will not betray the Order.”

“Don’t be stupid. You know just as well as I do that their cause is foolish. They see the world in black and white, which both you and I know is not accurate. You know, don’t you, Peter, that there is no good and evil. There is Power. We are offering you power.”

Peter could almost feel the world bend around him, but he concentrated on the tea in his hands. “That’s a lie, you won’t give me anything. You only want to use me.”

The man laughed again, delightedly. “I’m glad you have discarded the pretenses! It is good to know we understand each other. I will not deny that we want to use the knowledge to which you have access. You would still get power in return. The Dark Lord appreciates your skills far more than the Order ever will. They relegate you to menial tasks, don’t they. They make you their messenger boy. They have you so downtrodden that you have even lost faith in your own abilities. They offer you nothing.”

It’s true, Peter’s brain cried out. I always have to do the paper work, or stand around guarding areas that hardly need guarding at all. They don’t even inform me of plans until the last minute. Could this man be right, that I’m really capable of more? I’ve always relied on Padfoot to do it for me, or Moony, or Prongs—

His thoughts quieted again. Prongs. He had visited James and Lily just last Sunday. And little Harry, barely five months old, but growing so fast. They’d let him hold the baby. He had felt so awkward, but couldn’t pass up the chance. He doubted whether he would ever have children of his own. Twenty years old, and never been kissed, never gotten laid, never gotten promoted, never did anything for Mum to be proud of, just sat at his desk all designing quills… But holding little Harry had been something different…

“They do offer me something,” he retorted at last, bringing his eyes up to meet the dark eyes watching him. “I won’t betray my friends.”

“Your friends?” The man raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “What friends? Those overgrown schoolboys who are kind enough to _let you tag along with them_, you mean? The ones who steal all the best women themselves and never try to help you find someone? The ones who used to watch you fall asleep in the dormitory and then put your hand in a bowl of warm water? The ones who show off in front of you just to give themselves an ego boost? Who do you think it is who’s been keeping you down all these years?”

_“How_ _do you know all this_?”

“Our master has eyes everywhere. He is more powerful than you can possibly imagine. There is no doubt he will win this war, you know. And he rewards his servants well.”

“I…I…” Peter was trying frantically to repress memories of his friends. Padfoot telling Prongs to stop showing off “before Peter wets himself.” Moony sighing in exasperation as he agreed to help with homework yet again. Prongs telling an explicit story about a nighttime stroll with Lily, then winking and asking “When are you going find a nice little rat of your own, Wormtail?” 

They aren’t really like that, he told himself firmly. Those are just the bad memories. There are plenty of good memories, too, aren’t there? You made the map together, didn’t you? Well, they made it, then let me add in a few bits when it was almost done. You became animagi together! Yes, and they made me be a rat, so I could get under the whomping willow. A rat, something small enough for the rest of them to trample on if they wanted. Just like they did all the time, put me where they could trample on me.

I only joined the Order because of them. The Order doesn’t even want me. And they don’t even like me.

Seeming to decide that he had allowed enough time for these ideas to sink in, the man spoke again, this time with a thin, sly smile on his face. “Are you really willing to die for a group of people who don’t give a shit about you, Peter?”

Peter teetered on the edge of the abyss. 

“Because if you decide to choose them, I’m afraid, you will die. It would be a real shame if you made that choice. You should be useful, you should be great, you should be on the side of power. Don’t throw your life away for _friends_ who won’t even bother to mourn you.”

And the abyss welcomed him.


End file.
